


Bring Back the Night, I'm Longing

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant Self Slaughter By Dean Who Really Should Knock That Shit Off At This Point, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Pining Dean Winchester, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Cas comes to Dean in dreams after his death, and Dean has to come to terms with that being the only way he can ever see Cas again. Takes place between episodes 1-5 of Season 13.





	Bring Back the Night, I'm Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to my gorgeous beta [superhoney](http://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney), as well as the amazing [whichstiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel), who honored me immensely by asking if I wanted to pair up with her for this challenge. I am not worthy -- just really lucky!
> 
> You can find a detailed post showing how this wonderful art was created [HERE](https://whichstiel.tumblr.com/post/172478901115/this-art-post-is-for-zaphodsgirls-lovely)

Somewhere in the few seconds between aiming his weapon at the creature before him and being rendered unconscious by it, Dean thinks: _it's probably a stupid idea to try and use a regular gun on the son of Satan._

It's not his rational mind that pulls the trigger, though. That part of him is offline, rendered mute by the motionless form of Castiel, lying in the dirt outside. He reacts emotionally, and just before everything goes dark another thought flits through his mind: _maybe I'll find Cas on the other side_.

*******

"I know this place," Dean mutters to himself, looking out across the lake. The water ripples from a light breeze, and the bank is ringed with trees all around, lush and green in what seems like springtime. He's sitting in a folding camp chair at the end of a long dock that protrudes into the water, holding a fishing pole in one slack hand and a beer in the other. 

"Yes," a gravelly voice says from just behind him. "I found you here once before, though I think it was colder, then."

Dean drops everything as he stands and turns so swiftly that the chair topples, hanging half off the edge of the dock. The fishing pole disappears into the water, followed by the beer can as it rolls to the end of a plank, spilling golden liquid in its wake. Dean grabs Cas by the shoulders and pulls him close, wrapping him in a tight hug. Cas brings his arms up behind Dean, grasping at him in return. 

"Is this Heaven?" he croaks, pulling Cas a little closer. There's no response for several minutes, and Dean shuts his eyes against the inevitable confirmation of the truth. Cas pats him on the back but doesn't pull away completely. 

"You're dreaming," Cas says, his lips brushing softly against the lobe of Dean's ear, the palms of his hands pressing into his shoulder blades. "I'm only here because you want me to be." 

Dean drops his arms and takes a minute step back. "Tell me you're dream walking. Tell me where to find you." 

"This is the only place you'll ever find me now," Cas says sadly, his tone laced with regret, and Dean turns away to look back out across the water. Every infliction in Cas's voice, every gesture he makes, are nothing but a product of Dean's imagination. The real Cas, the Cas in the waking world, is gone. This is all that Dean gets to have now.

"I don't want you here," he grits through his teeth, refusing to turn around when he feels a hand on his shoulder. "You're not real. None of this is real."

"Dean," the facsimile of Cas starts, but Dean brushes him off and runs his hands through his hair. He's shaking with fury and frustration and pain that starts affecting the landscape, the rippling effect moving beyond the water to make the trees and the sky shimmer and change. 

"I said I don't want you here!" he shouts across the water, the scene in front of him losing definition and clarity as he raises his voice. "You're not Cas! Cas is _dead!"_ he screams into the air, and everything around him turns to darkness as he falls to one knee. "Cas is dead," he whispers to himself. It doesn't hurt less when he says it softly, and he hugs himself tightly as he falls onto his side and shuts his eyes. 

 

*******

The flames of the funeral pyre feel as though they've burned themselves into the back of Dean's retinas as they drive away from that lonely cabin in the Northwest. That and the sight of Cas's dessicated wings burned into the soil, the last thing he glimpsed in the fading firelight before he got into the car to leave Cas behind forever. 

Dean has no desire now to close his eyes despite Sam's insistence that he sleep -- but he doesn't want to listen to him bitching either, so he pulls into a motel. Less than an hour later he lies down begrudgingly, determined to stay awake as he listens to the Satan Spawn flipping through a bible across the room. Unfortunately, his mind's desires are subservient to his body's needs, and without realizing it the susurration of turning pages lulls him to sleep.

The sound stays with him as he goes under, the whispered caress of the paper sliding against itself turning just slightly into something different. He's listening, trying to place the sound before he can see where he is, and as soon as he realizes that it's water his surroundings come into soft focus. 

He's standing at the end of the dock this time, in just jeans and a t-shirt without his customary layers. The sun is shining on the water, and he realizes his feet are bare as he feels the warmth of the boards beneath them. He breathes deeply, the rich scent of the lake filling his nostrils, and he can almost forget that this is a dream. 

He looks behind him to where the dock meets the shore and is a little surprised to see a cabin set back from the water's edge, with forested mountains rising up in the distance. He heads towards it, hands in his pockets, enjoying the sensation of the warm earth under his feet as he leaves the dock and steps onto the land. He approaches the cabin leisurely, checking his surroundings for other signs of life. The distant leaves rustle in a breeze he doesn't feel, and he can still hear the gentle rhythm of the water lapping against the bank, but there's nothing to indicate that he isn't completely alone out here. 

He jogs up three steps to the porch, the wood in the shade cooler by degrees, and cups his hands against the window to peer inside. He can see that the interior is one large room with a couch in the center and a fireplace on the left wall, though it's not in use at the moment. Opposite the door is a wall entirely of glass, the lake and the mountains in full view, like a painting. _Or like a dream,_ he thinks stupidly. 

Though the back of the couch faces his direction, he can see a pair of socked feet dangling over the arm.

"Let's see who's home, then," he says under his breath, and knocks at the front door. He hears a low thud from inside, then a shuffling sound coming closer until it reaches the other side of where he stands. The door opens without preamble to the surprised face of someone he knows. 

"Hello, Dean," he says, the timbre of his voice just as low and rich as it was in life, and Dean sighs.

"What are you doing here, Cas?" 

"You told me to go away," he responds. Cas is still wearing his usual dress pants and button down shirt, though it's untucked and hanging loose. He lets go of the door to twist his hands in the hem, hanging his head and looking unsure. "I didn't think you wanted to see me so I came in here. I can't really _go_ anywhere, not really. I'm only here because you want me to be, even if you don’t admit it out loud." 

Dean pushes his way into the cabin, shutting the door behind him and stalking into the middle of the room. Cas stays by the door, looking wary, and Dean finally sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He scans the room, taking in the kitchen on one side and the bookcases flanking the fireplace opposite, and he sees a book on the floor by the couch. Cas must have been reading it when he knocked, and Dean reaches for it as he sits heavily on the nearest cushion. The title is _Love is a Mixtape_ , and he wonders if it's a real book or just something conjured by his imagination. 

"Did you ever listen to it?" he asks Cas, flipping through the pages that seem to have real text on them. He can sense the hesitation of the figure behind him before he gets an answer. 

"It was the only thing I ever listened to," Cas says softly, and Dean nods to himself as he puts the book aside.

"You're only saying that because it's what I want to hear. What my mind wants you to say."

"Then why do you ask me questions?" Cas says, coming closer. 

"I don't know." Dean leans into the back of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his eyes with one hand. "It's easy to forget what's real when I'm talking to you in here." There's no answer, and Dean cranes his neck to peer at Cas, standing behind the couch with one arm crossed over his body and gripping the opposite elbow. "Come sit," he says, indicating the empty cushion opposite, and Cas moves without hesitation. The book rests between them like a solitary boat across a vast stretch of water that's currently calm.

He looks at the form of Cas, facing front and pointedly not looking at Dean, hands resting on his knees as he sits on the edge like he's waiting for judgement. He looks so much like the real thing with his stiff posture that Dean would believe -- if he didn't know better. 

Dean can't think of anything to say, so he stares out the glass at the scene before them. The lake is calm now, smooth like a glass surface, reflecting the trees and the mountains beyond.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Cas asks quietly. "That such serenity can exist in a mind full of as much turmoil as yours."

"Are you the serenity? Or the turmoil?" Cas doesn't answer for a while, doesn't move his position, and Dean has almost forgotten his question by the time he speaks.

"I feel like home to you." 

Dean's throat closes up around a rush of emotion and he turns to look at him, this stoic reproduction of Cas that will only ever exist now in dreams, before he turns to stare back at the landscape in resignation.

"And now home is gone."

"Except for here." 

"Yeah. Except for here." 

Dean moves before he can think too much of it, knocking the book onto the floor and sliding across the couch until they're close enough to touch. He feels unsure of what to do next, but he can feel the warmth of Cas beside him, a comfort conjured by his unconscious mind. He feels the tension in him gradually release until he leans into Cas and puts his head on his shoulder. Dean closes his eyes and thinks of nothing but the feel of Cas beside him until he finds himself awake in the world again.

*******

Dean doesn't think he'll be able to sleep with the image of Jack stabbing himself over and over running through his mind, but at some point the view of his bedroom ceiling changes to something much more colorful. He recognizes it easily, now, though it looks slightly different than before. Everything looks much more lush, almost hyper-realistic. The sky and the lake are impossible shades of blue, and the trees across the way are resplendent with various shades of green. 

This time he's sitting on the edge of the dock with his feet dangling in the water, wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey board shorts. It's much warmer the last time he was here, and he can feel the sun beating against his back. He wonders idly if you need to worry about sunscreen in dreams, but he turns his face up to the sky anyway, placing his palms on the warm wood behind him and leaning back. 

"You'll bring out your freckles if you do that." He sits up, startled but not alarmed, and finds Cas treading water in the lake a few feet from him. He grins in a way that is unlike the real Cas, a grin that's playful and flirtatious. "Are you going to sit there all day, or are you going to join me?" 

Dean swallows hard, wondering why his mouth is suddenly so dry. 

"I didn't know you could swim," he croaks out stupidly, and Cas laughs before he brings his knees up and positions himself to float on his back as he closes his eyes. He's wearing the same type of swim trunks as Dean, but his are blue like the sky. The rest of him is more naked than Dean has ever seen him in life, more relaxed, more human. Dean pushes himself off the dock and slides into the water, going under for a moment before he resurfaces and moves closer to Cas.

It's warm, like bathwater, and during his entrance the lake has become translucent. He can see not only his own feet, but the very bottom of the lake. Cas pops upright as he gets closer, and the smile he gives Dean rivals the sun itself.

"Wow," Dean says, looking into the water beneath them. "This is amazing. Is that...is that a coral reef?" 

Cas laughs lowly, and Dean shivers a little despite the warmth surrounding them. "I told you. Everything here is how you make it. Do you want to go check it out?" 

"It's deep, man, I could never hold my breath that long."

Cas puts his hands on Dean's shoulders and leans in to whisper in his ear. "You're dreaming, Dean. Dream that you can breath underwater." His lips graze the shell of Dean's ear as he speaks, and then he pushes back with a grin before diving below the surface. Dean blinks after him for a beat before he follows. 

He can see clearly under the water, and he breathes just as he would on the surface. He can't help but grin as he follows Cas down, down to the reef below them. The bottom of the lake is teeming with life as though they’re in the tropics, and multi-colored fish dart in and out of the coral without any fear of the men nearby. Cas reaches out for him, and Dean twines their fingers together in a way that feels both as natural and as alien as breathing underwater. 

Cas turns back to watch their surroundings, but Dean finds himself watching Cas as they float in this underwater paradise of his dream: the carefree smile on his face, the riot of dark hair floating around him, the muscles under his skin. He pulls on his hand, and Cas turns towards him, the two of them floating in the crystalline space below the surface as Dean reaches out with his free hand to cup a slightly stubbled cheek. Cas reaches up, his fingers wrapping around Dean's wrist, and Dean leans in and brushes their lips together in a way he never could in the waking world.

They swim about easily underwater inspecting all the various life forms, and Dean never releases Cas's hand. When he wakes in the morning, that hand is twisted in the sheets and he's alone.

*******

Dean feels calmer the night they get back from Wisconsin, and he's not sure if it's because Jack seems like less of a threat or because he and Sam have finally talked about some of their issues. He lies on his bed in the bunker, feeling the embrace of the memory foam beneath him, and wonders what would be different for him if he'd talked to other people about things he preferred to keep hidden. 

This time in the dream he finds himself reclining on the sofa in the cabin, an open book resting on his stomach. For a moment it's as if his worlds are reversed, and he'd just fallen asleep in the cabin and dreamt of a life filled with monsters and mayhem. He looks at the book he was ostensibly reading and recognizes it as the one Cas had before. He rubs his eyes as he puts it aside and stands up.

"Cas?" Dean calls out, turning in a slow circle in the middle of the main floor. "Where are you?" 

There's no answer, and the landscape beyond the glass shows a field of bright white with snow capped mountains in the distance, the lake a frozen expanse of ice. He realizes the fire inside is burning bright, and it's cozy and warm in the cabin despite the cold winter glare outside. He heads for the door, wondering why Cas would be outside in this weather. As he steps onto the porch, he realizes he's wearing a chunky knit sweater with jeans and a pair of wool socks, unlike any clothes he's ever owned in his life. He stands in his stocking feet on the boards, seeing his breath fog in the air but not really feeling the cold. 

"Cas?" he calls out again, pulling the door shut behind him.

"I'm here, Dean!" says a voice from the left, and he walks to the far end of the porch and leans against the rail. 

"What are you doing?" 

Dean can see over a dozen marks in the snow around Cas, and he takes a silent roll call in his head as he counts them: _Hannah, Gabriel, Samandriel, Balthazar, Anna, Gadreel._

They fill him with a strange sense of guilt, these hollow depressions as far as he can see, so many empty representations of the brothers and sisters Cas has lost in the years since he resurrected Dean. "I'm making snow angels!" Cas calls out, an infectious grin on his face so wide that Dean feels it take hold of his own lips and turn them up at the corners, banishing the guilt. "Come join me!"

Dean doesn't hesitate as he vaults over the railing, tumbling into a heap of snow without injury, the snow cool against his limbs. He sits up and sees that Cas is right beside him, so real but not real. No longer is he Castiel, a fallen angel, a being burdened with purpose he'll never fully achieve. This is a Cas released from all his sorrows, and Dean realizes that in this place he is, too. He rolls smoothly on top of Cas, who smiles up at him from the snow, his cheeks pink with delight and exertion. Their eyes lock, and though Cas's smile fades the light never leaves his eyes as they glance at Dean's lips before meeting his gaze again.

Their fogged breath intermingles in the air before Dean leans into him, pressing their lips together more firmly than he had in the lake. Then he'd been hesitant, but now he takes what he wants with a surety he'd never felt when awake. Dean moves Cas's arms above his head as he twines their fingers together, pressing him more deeply into the snow, then releases one to cup his face and angle it to his liking. He loses track of time as he explores those lips, feels the shape of Cas beneath him, solid and so warm. Cas wraps an arm about his waist and rolls Dean onto his back, pressing a leg between his thighs. Wisps of steam rise up all around them, and Dean thinks for a moment that the snow must be melting. His thoughts are soon diverted by the hard line of Cas pressing into his hip, and Dean wraps his arms around him, running hands along his back where once upon a time he had wings. Maybe he still does and they're just invisible, because Dean feels like he's floating on air.

"Cas," he gasps out as they break apart and he actually looks at his surroundings. "Are we...are we flying?"

The only response he gets is a low chuckle, and Dean clutches at him as he surveys the area. The snow they'd fallen into has been transformed into a large cloud, one of many strewn across a dream sky streaking indigo and gold as the sun sets behind the mountains. 

"I'll never let you fall," Cas says into his ear, but Dean knows that's not true. There's one way he _has_ fallen, a long and slow descent that Cas couldn't have prevented -- even if he'd known about it before Dean landed on his knees in the dirt beside a burned silhouette of wings.

"I loved you," he says. "I loved you for a long time, and now whenever I'm awake I'm just so angry about all the things I'll never get to say."

The dream of Cas looks at him, eyes aglow with a grace that's gone now forever. "I think that's why you keep me here," he finally says, sitting up to face Dean, the sky surrounding them transforming itself not just into night but deep space, a litter of galaxies dotted with dying stars strewn behind him to infinity. "Because you want to unburden yourself. Maybe if you do, I'll finally go away."

Dean considers. Every waking hour he spends in the world takes him further away from Cas's actual existence, and every moment he dreams entangles him with the one that's a fabrication. There's a chasm between that which is real, and that which can never be, and he knows he must choose. 

"Come here," he says, holding a hand out to Cas. "Let me show you."

It's not long before he forgets all about the dreamscape surrounding them and loses himself completely in the constellation of Cas. 

*******

The next time he dreams of the lake, it’s not as pleasant. He wakes in a cold sweat, breathing heavily from exertion, and not the pleasant kind. He swings his legs over the side of the mattress and pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to sort through the fragments of the dream. 

It had been just the dock once again, the signs of autumn marching across the surrounding landscape, green fading to brown at the edges and the water heavy and listless. It looked much like it did the very first time Cas had ever visited him here, in a dream that was several lifetimes ago now for Dean. He'd stood from the camp chair and glanced down at himself to see that he was dressed just the way he always was, flannel and jeans and leather jacket. 

He didn’t feel real alarm until he turned to look back at the shore and found that the cabin was gone.

"Cas?" he called, head whipping in every direction. "Cas! Where are you?" He couldn’t help the panic he felt as he raced to the shore, his pounding feet against the boards just a drumroll to the conclusion he already knew. 

He doesn't know how long he searched, calling for his angel in vain, but now he's awake and aware that he'll never see Cas again.

The case in Colorado Junction is just what he needs, the type of distraction he's always used to put pain behind him: the dangerous rhythm of their work, the tedium of research, the thrill of the hunt.

He's a little taken aback when Sam tries to take him to a strip club, but later that night he can't face the thought of an empty dreamscape where he's alone again. He sneaks there after Sam has gone to sleep, but it's not long after he enters that he knows there's nothing here he wants.

Dean hammers back one drink after another, paying little to no attention to any of the dancers. Each woman that approaches him is gently rebuffed, but eventually he comes down with a case of whiskey lips. He closes the place out while he trades sob stories with most of the dancers as they come offstage, ruminating drunkenly on love and loss and missed opportunities. 

Bobbi Jo hangs a pink bra around his neck like a gold medal when she helps him get back to the motel, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek as she props him up against the door. "Let your brother think he helped you get back to normal if that's what he needs," she says, and he nods gratefully before stumbling into the room and passing out on the carpet.

Later the next night, as he plunges a needle into his own chest, he once again thinks: _maybe I'll find Cas on the other side_.

He doesn't, and not even coming back to life can take away the sense of hopelessness he feels.

"You okay?" Sam asks, and again Dean finds himself opening his mouth to speak in a way he never could before.

"No. Sam, I’m not okay. I’m pretty far from okay." 

Several hours later he thinks he must be dreaming again when he answers his phone, and a gravelly voice he'd finally given up on speaks from someplace unknown.

"Hello, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> The book Cas is reading when Dean finds him in the cabin is a real book about dealing with the death of a partner. Some things you just can't make up. The book is _Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time_ by Rob Sheffield. If you don't believe me, you can find it [here.](https://www.amazon.com/Love-Mix-Tape-Life-Loss/dp/1400083036)


End file.
